


Ravell'd Sleeves

by withdiamonds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-04
Updated: 2009-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ravell'd Sleeves

“Dude, where were you?”

Sam looks up from where he’s fighting to get the old-fashioned motel key out of the lock, and stops halfway in the door. Dean’s sitting on the end of his bed, his shoulders set and stiff, his face a neutral mask.

And, the thing is, Sam can read Dean’s body language as easily as he can read a book, and Dean is pissed. And not just pissed, but terrified.

Sam rattles the key impatiently, but it’s rusty and it won’t budge. He can feel his own anger spike, and he stops, takes a deep breath. Jiggling the key carefully, he finally eases it out of the lock and steps the rest of the way into the motel room.

He closes the door behind him, shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on his bed, then toes off his shoes, all the while waiting.

Dean waits, too, the moonlight slanting through the window casting his face into shadow. But Sam can still see the anger there. He sighs.

“What.”

“Where the hell where you, Sam?” Dean’s voice is low and dangerous.

And really, Sam hadn’t been anywhere. He’d been walking, thinking about the sixty-six seals Castiel had told Dean about, wondering what they could be, what other horrors Lilith was prepared to unleash on an unsuspecting world. Just walking, and thinking.

Someday Lilith was going to die bloody if Sam had his way.

Sam grits his teeth, not really in the mood for Dean to go all paranoid and judgmental on him yet again. “I was talking a walk.”

“A walk.” Dean frowns at him. “Uh huh.”

“Dean- ” Sam breaks off and shakes his head. He really doesn’t want to get into it with his brother. Striding across the room, he goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. He takes a deep breath, turning the water on and splashing a handful over his face. His reflection in the mirror stares back at him, and Sam looks away.

When he goes back out into the bedroom, Dean’s sitting exactly where Sam left him, the exact same expression on his face, only his eyes are dark and his hands are clenched into fists, resting on his thighs.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, Sam. Where the fuck were you?” It’s almost a growl.

“I walked across the parking lot, then I turned left and walked two blocks east. I would have walked farther, but the sidewalk ended, so I turned left again. Did you know there’re five different bars within a two-block radius? It’s like this crappy motel is at the epicenter of some kind of party- ”

Sam stops talking because Dean’s on his feet and in his face, hands wrapped in the front of Sam’s t-shirt, nose inches from his. “Don’t fuck with me, Sam. You were with her, weren’t you? That lying bitch Ruby, teaching you God knows what- ”

Sam shoves Dean back almost before he knows he’s gonna do it, and Dean lands sprawled on his back across his neatly made bed. It’s after midnight, and Dean’s bed looks like no one’s been near it in days. Sam stares down at the front of his t-shirt where it’s stretched and twisted where Dean grabbed it. His anger spikes again.

“I told you I wouldn’t, Dean,” he snarls. Dean laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“Right. And I have every reason to believe you.” His voice is flat and when he meets Sam’s eyes, there’s despair there. Sam studies his face and sees lines of exhaustion around Dean’s mouth, dark circles under his eyes. His skin is almost gray and his freckles stand out in stark relief in the harsh florescent light coming out of the bathroom.

They haven’t talked about it, the fact that Dean doesn’t sleep. Dean has to know that Sam’s noticed. Dean doesn’t even undress for bed unless Sam strips his clothes off for him. He lies on top of the covers, as if crawling between the sheets would take him closer to whatever he sees when he’s asleep.

Sam’s not stupid and he’s not blind. He doesn’t wake Dean up when he finally drifts off in the car, or stretches out uneasily on the bed, flipping through car or porn magazines, which to Dean are pretty much the same thing.

He’s figured he’ll just leave Dean to deal with it in his own way. Dean won’t thank him if he pushes, and if Sam’s honest with himself, he really doesn’t think he wants to know what Dean remembers from Hell, what he sees in his dreams.

And doesn’t that just make him the best brother ever. “Okay. I’ve had about enough of this, Dean.” Sam catches a glimpse of Dean’s startled blink and then he’s on him. Dean struggles, although his heart’s obviously not really in it or Sam’s ass would be on the floor by now, but Sam does something he rarely does, and that’s use his size and strength against his brother. For his brother.

And when he has Dean naked and trembling under him, he brushes a soothing hand across his forehead, over his shoulder, down his arm until Dean’s hand is clasped in his, warm fingers entwined with Dean’s cold ones.

“Shh,” Sam whispers. “Shh. Just let me.” Dean trembles.

They haven’t done this much since Dean came back. Only a few times, and only at Dean’s instigation. Sam finds Dean’s…normalcy after a summer in Hell disconcerting and isn’t sure he trusts it, so he’s left the sex up to Dean. He knows he was right not to trust Dean’s façade once he realizes Dean isn’t sleeping.

Sam leans down and kisses his brother, makes it as gentle and reassuring as he’s able, puts as much love into it as he can. It’s like having a wild animal caught in a trap in his arms, and his heart breaks just a little. His big brother should never have to be afraid of anything.

He covers Dean with his body, lets him feel Sam’s strength. Sam’s not going anywhere and neither is Dean, at least not until Sam lets him. Which will be never as far as Sam’s concerned.

He talks Dean through it, nonsense words that Dean would never allow if he wasn’t made worn and vulnerable with exhaustion. “I’m here, let me, it’s okay,” and Dean whines high in his throat as Sam curls his fingers around both of them, his hand slipping into a familiar rhythm, one that has Dean gasping into Sam’s mouth and shooting warm and wet over his hand.

A few more strokes and Sam’s there, too, his brother’s name on his lips, and then they’re both just breathing, limbs entangled, Sam’s face in Dean’s neck.

Sam takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back, bringing Dean with him, draping him over his chest, not letting him move away.

“Now go to sleep,” Sam says almost sternly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean shakes his head even as his eyes slip closed, and Sam can’t pretend the shadows aren’t still there. But at least for a few hours, Sam can make sure his brother sleeps.


End file.
